When Light is Stolen, a Descent into Madness
by Miranda2r14
Summary: Toreador Miranda Montreve dissapears for six months, did she tire of her Nosferatu love and go on to other things, or did something much worse happen to her? As played on MyWorldofDarkness.
1. Chapter 1

/galerie...

When the wrapping has been pulled back and the contents revealed; an unearthly quiet blankets the office. The woman sits still as a statue, her gold evening gown pooling around her feet, hands clutched white as bone around the camera. Her eyes alone move slowly towards the white cylinder resting on the desk, a shiver passes down her body and she closes them. Moments tick into minutes as Miranda struggles with her own mind ... and loses.

A horrid shriek pierces the silence as she hurls the camera into the fireplace with all the strength she possesses. There is no trace of humanity in her face as she flees from the room, leaving behind swirling papers, packing peanuts and the burning stench of film.

All night the slight figure ran through the streets of Lamar without any rational thought or direction; there was only the panic of a beast trying to escape. Her heels had long since broken, the hem of her dress and her bare feet became caked in the dirt and grime of the city. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, the woman broke clear of the city limits into the quiet surrounding farmland. The incessant clamoring in her mind, like wings beating against a cage eased somewhat and she slowed; her thoughts becoming her own once more. Confused, Miranda looked around trying to remember where she was and why.

She stood alone in the center of a field, the moon shone brightly overhead and on the gentle breeze that lifted her hair came the whispering and gibbering of inhuman voices. She whirled trying to place the sound and saw nothing. The next breeze brought an all to familiar low chuckle to her ears and she froze. "Silly little girl..." the voice whispered, and with a sob Miranda attempted to flee once more only to run straight into the man from her nightmares. "Pere" she choked as he clutched her tiny wrists to his chest. He smiled and released her, and began to circle her as a hunter would its prey.

Miranda stood rigid, rooted in place. She was held captive by his touch and his gaze. Uncontrollable shivers ran up and down her body as he walked around her, his hands caressing her neck and chest. He stopped behind her and put his hands lightly on her throat, leaning down to match his great height to her small frame so that his face was very, very close. He slid he teeth apart slowly and ran his tongue on the edge, each word he spoke laced with cruelly seductive intent. "You are still mine."

Miranda made a desperate whimpered cry in the back of her throat.

"Yes oh yes," he whispered close to her ear. His nails drug along her flesh as he squeezed his hands.

"I don't want you!" She managed to choke out.

"Oh but everything about you says you do, little dove. You stand there under my gaze, of your own free will. Every nerve in your body cries out for my touch, my blood, my voice." He runs a hand down her hair as if stroking an animal.

"No...Naaate" she breathes, barely more than a whisper.

His hands close tighter about her neck, forceful now. "That disgusting filth of a Nos that was always pining for you? Don't think I don't know why you're here little dove." Cold cruelness radiated from his body and something inside her snapped to hear the ugly words about someone who meant so much to her. She twisted from his grasp and turned with her hands raised as claws to strike him, but before she could a bestial look crossed his face and in a blur of motion he clutched her throat and lifted her high into the air.

"Developed a backbone have you, weak little girl?" he snarled. He pulled her against his body, "Make no mistake about it, whatever has happened between then and now it is nothing. Nothing!" His voice became soft and she closed her eyes, helpless before his beauty. "Mine," he whispered gently to her. He stepped back and released her and she fell to the muddy ground on her knees; her long, dark hair fell in front of her face hiding the blood tears that had started to form.

Minutes or maybe hours later, she felt hard hands lifting her and before she could struggle she had been bound and blindfolded. A woman's voice reached her ears, "Take her back and confine her. I have business but I will return shortly." 


	2. Chapter 2

Miranda lay on the cold stone floor on her side, her ankles and wrists bound behind her with thickly knotted ropes. Around her the smells of blood and vomit mixed with the rank odor of old death and musky earth. She could do nothing to alleviate the stress of the awkward position and had long since ceased to try work free of the bonds. Her early struggles had no other impact than to leave her abrased and bloodied. As time had passed in her confinement she had grown weaker and weaker; they came nightly to attempt to make her drink but she could not stomach the blood they brought and inevitably she would retch and spill forth everything they forced down her throat. Whatever they laced with the blood still took effect however, she was never really lucid or cognizant of her surroundings.

A dim light bobbed before her tightly shut eyes. A conversation flowed around her but she didn't care to watch or listen, she merely pulled her knees tighter to her chest and tried to forget where she was.

"Why are you keeping her like this? This is not what I had planned for her." A silky voice with a French accent sounded angry.

"She has to take the drug, or do you want her reaching out to those imbeciles in your city? It's her own damned fault she's too weak to even drink the blood we bring her every night, stupid bitch. What did you expect when you knew she'd come here, the fucking Hilton?" A woman's laughter, cold and mocking and unfamiliar.

"The only bitch here is you Meg," the man retorted.

A feigned sigh precedes the words, "Fine, fine we'll do it your way for tonight." The sound of the woman's voice comes from a new direction now. "Wash her and make her presentable, have her ready for the ritual tonight, I don't care what else you do with her."

Light footfalls faded away from her hearing and then there was a presence at her back. Miranda gasped as the cords that bound her open wounds were pulled taught and then fell away. As she rolled to get to her knees she was caught by strong arms that lifted her to sit and stroked back her hair.

"Ouvrez les yeux, Miranda, look at me." The arms shook her impatiently, "Now."

She struggled to comply, opening and closing her eyes, stung by the dim light of the lantern that sat on a far table. After a moment she looked up into into the face of he who held her and blanched, trying weakly to throw herself backwards but to no avail.

The arms shook her again, harder this time. "Cessiez! You are being unreasonable...foolish! I am trying to help you."

Miranda's mind was too far gone to understand the dire situation she was in. She was alone, away from friends and those she loved; her body had been fouled and she was locked away in continuous darkness. What little vitae she had left began to seep through her eyelids and she whispered the name of the only thought that brought her comfort, "Nate..."

An ugly look of hatred contorted the beautiful features of her captor, before relaxing and shifting into the look of a more non-descript man wearing a trench coat and white tennis shoes. He stroked her hair and pulled her close to his body and whispered to her, "Miranda, darling, don't cry. I'm here, you're safe. Shh, it's alright." He held her and rocked her until she stilled.

When she recognized him, she cried out in joy and threw her arms around him and clung to him. "You came! Nate I've been so scared."

He stroked her hair, "I know, I know."

"We have to leave here, now Nate, he'l come back, P re he'll -" she was babbling, still near insensible.

Nathanial stood and pushed her away, without helping her up. He looked down on her as she struggled to her knees and a hard looked masked his features. "What makes you think I came to rescue you? You ran away and left me, did you think of how I would feel when you were gone? No, no you didn't." He moved his leg to avoid her touch when she reached out to him, "I only came to see you got what you deserved. Goodbye, Miranda."

He walked out of the room and slammed the door shut. Miranda's sobs could be heard for hours before both they and the oil in the forgotten lamp dimmed. 


	3. Chapter 3

The tall, elegant man leaned in the arch of the doorway, surveying the filth of the room. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides as he watched the woman on the stone floor. Like a corpse she seemed, her skin shrunken and tight across her bones. Her sable hair that he had coveted above all else was matted with blood and dried vomit.

A growl came from low in his throat and his nostrils flared, "Assez." He pushed himself way from the door frame and covered the distance between them in quick, powerful strides. He slipped one arm beneath her neck and with the other scooped her legs and cradled her to his chest. His jaw clenched at how little she weighed, and the angry sounds in his throat grew louder. He carried her through the ruined building to his car where he laid her gently in the back seat. Shrugging out of his coat, he wrapped it around her and shut the door to slip into the driver's seat and take her away.

Night by night for the next few weeks he cared for her. He fed her from his own vein and this she did not vomit, but grew stronger and the blush of life and fullness returned to her skin.

The heavy scent of steam and roses and the soft notes of a piano filled the air. Miranda reclined with her eyes close, head resting on something soft folded beneath her neck. Her body floated in exquisitely warm water. She was too afraid to open her eyes, so long had she lived in a nightmare that this comfort must be a lie, an illusion to be shattered if she faced it head on.

"R veillez-vous, mon petit oiseau." Gentle hands smoothed the water over her body and she felt a strand of hair being moved away from her face.

Miranda took a deep breath of the scented air, languished a moment more and opened her eyes. The splendor laid out before her was breathtaking. She lay in a large porcelain clawed tub that sat in the center of a sprawling ivory tiled bathroom. The light from the chandelier's crystals created dazzling sparkles along the gilt that edged everything in the room. Her senses were overcome by the meticulous beauty, and for a moment she could do nothing but stare helplessly at the man who knelt beside her bath.

Recognition led to memory and memory led to panic but outwardly all she could do was smile at P re as he lifted her hand and kissed her palm. "Vous tes la mienne," he whispered. Miranda inclined her head and ran the hand he held over his cheek to his neck and buried it in his hair. The triumphant gleam that entered his eyes was nearly feral and made her scream in fury inside her head.

He rose gracefully, his movements feline in their impeccably gorgeous strength. He reached down lifting her as one would a doll and placed her on a round, plush cream rug next to the tub. P re stepped away and returned a moment later with a robe that he draped around her body, his hands lingering to rub her shoulders while he leaned down to breath in the scent of her hair.

A moment later she felt his hand at her back, gently urging her forward. "This way, I have something to show you. I remember how you loved your dresses and the closets I filled to bursting for you."

She complied, but as she walked her own voice railed at her, screamed that this wasn't right, this wasn't her home or where she belonged. Time warped around her as the night wore on, sometimes she was here and now and desperate to escape and sometimes she was back 60 years ago when she had been his young, submissive childe.

She allowed him to dress her in an antique white gown that left her shoulders bare and pooled like a fountain around her legs. He draped pearls around her neck, lingering to softly press his lips to her collarbone before he stepped back and turned her to face a tall mirror that sat on swiveled feet. She saw herself as he did, the yellow-white dressed matched perfectly to her pale skin and made starkly contrasted by the long falls of sable hair that fell down her back to her waist. A doll, a witless doll. She imagined lunging forward and shattering the mirror with her small fists but instead she turned and placed the hand on his chest, smiling up and him and murmuring words of thanks.

He led her to the large open foyer where the music of the piano originated, placed his hand on her waist and bowed slightly before beginning the steps of a dance what was old half a century ago when they first danced it.

((Mood music: YouTube - Tool - Sober [hq - fullscreen]))

"You were always what I wanted, petit oiseau. Only you." I am just a worthless liar, came the echo in her mind.

They twirled together on the floor, she small and fragile and light; he dark and powerful.

"I've done what I could to make you safe and happy." I am just an imbecile.

Step, step, twirl.

"Stay with me always." I will only complicate you.

Dip, step, smile.

"I will keep you safe." Trust in me and fall as well.

Around and around they move.

"It will be like it always was, I will provide all that you need; your art supplies, your darkroom, all of it. Only stay." I will find a center in you, I will chew it up and leave.

Trust me.  
Trust me.

He leaned down and crushed her body to his, lowering his mouth and covering her hers, his kiss full of possessive desire. Something stirred in her, a memory that threatened to drown to her completely; another kiss in another time with another man. A black hole opened in her chest. She had come so far with that other and to be back here, now, with this man was too much for her to bear. Waves of sorrow drowned out all else in her mind and for a long time she was just what he wanted, a mindless marionette. 


	4. Chapter 4

A red glow emanates from a single bulb set in the ceiling of the workroom. A slight woman sits on a tall metal stool, her bare feet perched on a rung high enough to bring her knees up to her chest. She stares listlessly at the hanging photographs, her eyes are vacant and unfocused. Without warning, a connection is ripped loose in her mind. She is vaguely aware of the sound of metal clanging against concrete, and the cold stone that scrapes her arms and knees. A high, keening noise fills the room and time again warps itself for this woman. Her life has meant nothing and she has become nothing as once more she suffers the loss of the Bond to her Sire. This time there would be no rescuer.

You're free, came a voice in her mind.

Free? I hurt too much to be free.

You can leave, go find the one who really matters.

Na.. the thought ended as abruptly as it began. She couldn't face that memory right now.

Miranda pushed herself to her feet and stumbled out of the darkroom and up the stairs into the main foyer. A rage she couldn't quite name came over her as she looked around, the place for all it's beauty had a been a cage. A cage for a little bird. She didn't bother putting shoes on as she fled the front door out into the streets.

This isn't Lamar. She panicked for a moment; she had no phone, no car, no means of finding her way back to familiar territory. She almost turned around and went back inside but a wave of revulsion for the place hit her so strongly that she angrily began walking down the street. She hadn't gotten far when she noticed she was being followed; they weren't trying to make themselves known and were staying well hidden in the shadows. Miranda tried to blend with the darkness herself and move faster than they could follow but soon she realized that whatever was there was toying with her, herding her where it wanted her to go.

Anger flared again and she stopped to take the measure of what hounded her, piercing the darkness ahead with her senses. Anger melted to fear as she felt the wave of monstrous creatures closing in arch around her. One by one they melted into vision; a feral woman and a multi-armed aberration at the forefront. "Looky, looky, it's the pretty plaything! Come out to play with us?" crooned the woman in a falsely high sing-song voice as it crouched and prepared to spring at Miranda. When it lept, Miranda evaded it easily and bared her own fangs and hissed. The feral woman rolled from her failed jump and came to her knees, spitting and furious. The rest of the figures moved in closer, claws and appendages extended; voices taunting and mocking.

A fierce hatred welled up and burst forth from Miranda and she refused to acknowledge the inevitability of her fate. She let her presence rush outwards in a wave of force, pushing back the foulness around her and tried one last time to mentally reach out for help but before she could she felt a heavy blow land on the back of her head. Senseless she crumpled to the ground. 


End file.
